In the End It's Just Plain Useless
by Venstre
Summary: "Between the name-calling, harassment, and the countless times he had to make up excuses to his mother about why his lip was bleeding or his cheek was bruised, he spent most of his time just wishing he could disappear. Cliché, perhaps, but it was cliché for a reason." Jean-centric fic about bullying and love. Eventual Jean/Marco, rating to go up. Full details in chapter one.


**Summary**: Jean is partway through his twelfth year in a large high school, alienated and targeted because of his sexuality. Life at school is hell for him, until he's approached by what seems to be the only student in the whole school who either doesn't know—or just doesn't care—about what people have been saying about Jean. Marco introduces him to new friends, new experiences, and brings the light back into Jean's life and helps him find love.

Unfortunately, Marco is seemingly also very straight.

A fic about bullying, dealing with falling in love with someone you can't have, making it through the final (embarrassing) stages of puberty, and surviving the hardest few years of your life—high school. Rating to go up in later chapters; eventual Jean/Marco slash and happy ending.

***A/N**:Due to the nature of this fic, slurs and abuse associated with homophobic bullying are very prevalent. The word "faggot" in particular comes up a lot, more than even I'm comfortable with. If this bothers you to a great degree, PLEASE DON'T READ. This is the hardest fic I've ever had to write, so updates may take a little longer if a certain topic is being breached in the chapter I'm working on at the time.

Though that's not to say that this fic is all doom and gloom! It WILL have a happy ending, with eventual Jean/Marco, and there will be tons of fluff and light-hearted elements smattered within. I'm hoping to get as many of the 104th Trainees Squad characters in here as I can, and all will aid in Jean's journey in some way or another. This fic is going to be a roller coaster ride for me, easily the longest and most difficult I've ever written, with lots of ups and downs and possible whiplash. I hope you all enjoy reading!

* * *

"_That's the pathetic thing about high school. Everyone tries so hard to be something they aren't. It's gotten so I don't know who I am, so how can I even try to be who I am, much less who I'm not?_

_My problem is that I don't even fit in with the misfits._

_I don't fit anywhere."_

― Katie Alender

**In the End It's Just Plain Useless**

Whoever said high school was the best part of your life was, as well as being _dead wrong_, either a) drunk, b) delusional, c) on the football team and by extension also drunk with way too much ego, or d) all of the above.

Point in check, high school is _not_ the best part of anyone's lives. And Jean knew this more than anyone.

Between the name-calling, harassment, and the countless times he had to make up excuses to his mother about why his lip was bleeding or his cheek was bruised, he spent most of his time just wishing he could disappear. Cliché, perhaps, but it was cliché for a reason. He told himself he was too much of a coward to take his own life, though he wouldn't deny that the thought crossed his mind too many times to be very healthy. So that just left him to wish that he could blend into lockers, doorframes, or anything he happened to be standing by.

"Faggot," someone growls as he walks between classes, and Jean visibly flinches. He hears laughter echo down the hall, and he focuses his undivided attention on the heels of the guy walking in front of him.

_Keep walking. Don't falter._

Keeping his head up, trying to fight back, laughing it off or making it seem like their comments did nothing to him…it doesn't work. They are words told by some self-diagnosed psychiatrist sitting behind a chair who has never had to deal with this sort of thing their whole lives. Someone who has led themselves to believe that they understood, and that they knew exactly how the bullies' minds worked and how to beat them at their own game.

Adolescents are not made from machines. High school kids are not all the same. Bullies do not all have an inferiority complex, or past bullying of their own, or really any reason other than just wanting to make other peoples' lives miserable. And Jean knows that better than anyone.

When he sits down he makes sure to hold onto the back of his chair, lest someone try to kick it out from under him. Not like it hadn't been done tons of times before. He tries to ignore the way Josiah—self-proclaimed president of the school and captain of the school's football team—swings his backpack around to hit him in the head as he walks by.

Two more periods. Two more classes, and then he can go home.

"Okay class," his teacher all but shouts, raising his voice to be heard above the conversations happening between the students. "Lunch break is over. Time for science."

Jean hears someone groan beside him.

He doesn't even like physics, but then again, he doesn't really like any of his classes. He'd considered moving schools, or completing online courses and taking the exams at the end of the year, but he hadn't been able to come up with a good enough excuse to persuade his parents.

As he rests his head against the desk, feeling the cool surface press against his cheek, he tries to ignore the repeated tapping of a foot on the back left leg of his chair. There is no seating plan in this class and he has no desire to turn around and see who it might be, so he keeps his head down and tries in vain to focus on the lesson.

Something about wavelengths and photons. Planck's constant. Not that it makes any sort of sense to him anyways. Not that he even cares.

He doesn't fall asleep, but he doesn't pay any sort of attention, either. When the class bell rings and the students around him immediately stand up he keeps his head on his desk, willing to wait for everyone to leave before making his way out on his own. He waits for the snide comments, the bashing of packs against his back, or even for his chair to be pulled out from under him, but surprisingly, today there are none.

"Hey," a soft voice says to him instead. "You're Jean, right?"

He can't help but to stiffen in suspicion anyways, but he lifts his head to see a kind, freckled face staring back at him. Warm brown eyes squint a little when he smiles, and he offers a hand to help him up. "I'm Marco. I hear that you play basketball."

"Used to," Jean grumbles, noticing how warm his hand is when he takes it to stand up. He's still on alert, not quite convinced that he's not being set up to something, but he's never had trouble from this guy before. Something tells him that he's safe.

Marco's smile is replaced by a concerned look. "Oh, really? Were you injured?"

He must be new this year and somehow not heard the rumours, or just really out of the loop. Maybe both. Probably. "Something like that," he says, not wanting to talk about the issue with someone he's just met.

"That's too bad. Apparently you were quite a good player," Marco comments, thankfully not pushing for details.

"Apparently."

There is silence for a little bit as Jean gathers his things together to leave, catching a glare from Josiah and his crew from the corner of his eye, and he shoulders his backpack on and turns towards the door. Marco falls into step with him as he makes his way back into the halls, and Jean wishes that he would leave.

"What class do you have now?" Marco asks him, seemingly adamant to keep their conversation going.

"Gym class." _My favourite._

"Oh, that's too bad. I have gym in the morning. It's nice now, though I don't know how nice it'll be when it starts cooling down outside."

"Mm."

Jean wants to take his time making it to the men's change room, but he also doesn't want to risk being tripped or kicked or called something in front of Marco. If he somehow doesn't know, then he'd rather it stay that way.

"Well, I've got English now, so I'll talk to you later!" Marco tells him as they reach a junction, giving him a small wave as they split up.

Jean forces a small half-smile. "Sure," he responds, and then loses him in the crowds.

If he's thankful for one thing, it's that it's a large high school. So even if a majority of the students know about…him, there are at least a few that still don't. Or some that just don't care. Whatever the case, it still doesn't feel like much.

He waits in the storage room above the gym stage, not caring if he's late so long as the locker room is cleared out by the time he makes it down there. Changing quickly is something he's gotten good at, and he doesn't mind waiting to use the showers at the end of the day. There's a reason he chose an end of the day gym class.

The bell rings, and Jean hears the locker room clear out. Still, he waits until he's sure that no one is left before dashing down to use it.

"Basketball today, ladies," he hears Coach bellow to his all-male class, and Jean frowns at the choice of words. If that blonde chick with the apathetic eyes in the girls' class were here, she'd kick most of the guys' asses just to prove her point. Either her or Mikasa.

"Two teams, and we'll make this simple. Everyone on my right is shirts, everyone on the left gets the pinnies. Move out!" Coach blows his whistle, and Jean wrinkles his nose when he realizes he's on the left. Fuck, he _hates_ the pinnies.

Luckily he's not one to complain, so he just tries to block the thoughts of when the last time they must have washed these goddamn things as he slips a particularly damp one over his head.

Disgusting.

Even though he could easily kick anyone in this class's ass, he still gets benched for the first part. Ben sneers at him when he picks his starters, abusing his privilege of still being on the school team, and Jean makes himself comfortable sitting on the sidelines. He's done with playing, anyways. This way he doesn't have to listen to Coach drill him about not joining the team.

"Why aren't you playing?" a short kid with a shaved head beside him asks. "You look like you'd be good at it."

Someone else who doesn't know. Great. "You see that guy, the one who's taken twelve three-pointers right now and missed each one?"

The other kid nods. "Yeah, what about him?"

"He's an asshole."

A snort of laughter, and he looks at Jean with a puzzled—but amused—face. "You think so?"

"I know so. Look at the way he'd rather get his ball stolen then pass to someone else."

Another giggle. "I guess so." He turns to watch the court. "I'm Connie, by the way."

"Jean."

When it's his turn to play, Jean quickly realizes that Connie stinks at basketball. Ben yells at him for fumbling with the ball, and when Coach walks out of the room, he loses it.

"What the fuck was that?" he yells, turning on Connie. "Are you _trying_ to make us lose?"

"No!" Connie protests, taking two steps backwards. Bad move. "It's just a practice game!"

"Just a practice game? Are you kidding me?" One of Ben's steps covers the same distance as Connie's two, and then he's in his face.

Despite his better judgment, Jean decides now is the time to intervene.

He clears the floor in a few strides, positioning himself in front of Connie. He's taller than Ben, but just barely.

"Stop it," Jean tells him, realizing too late just how stupid an idea this was. "You're making an ass out of yourself. It's just gym class."

Ben laughs, sarcastic and dry. "What did you say to me, queer?"

Jean pretends to not hear the shocked gasp that comes from Connie behind him. "I said," he starts, making sure to put extra emphasis on his next words, "you're making an ass out of yourself. Let it go." He'll pay for it later, he knows, but there's only so much Ben can do in class.

Though Coach is gone, and half this gym class is made up of athletes. Jean realizes he should have seen the punch that connects with him right in the cheek coming, but it hurts just as much anyways. Enough to drop him to one knee.

"Jean!" Connie exclaims, setting a hand on his shoulder, though hesitantly. Ben shoves him, hard, and he sprawls onto his rear end.

"Don't fucking touch him!" He yells at Connie, and then turns back to Jean. "Just what were you trying to achieve?" Jean pushes himself up so that he's standing again. "Thought you'd be the gay hero?" Jean's lip twitches in anger. "You're worthless. You're nothing but—"

There's a unified gasp from the students around them as Jean's fist hits Ben's jaw, hard. Not enough to break it, but enough to make a loud _crack_ as bone hits bone. Ben drops.

Coach still hasn't come back, and the class is silent. Watching as Ben writhes on the ground, Jean figures now is the best time to get out of here. He flinches inwardly at the shocked look he gets from Connie as he walks over, extending a hand.

Surprisingly, Connie takes it, and without saying anything Jean walks out.

He's so fucking done with this day. He ignores Ben's "You'd better watch your back, fag!"

Jean does not look back.

* * *

Taking his time as he changes into his street clothes, figuring there's no point in showering when he didn't even break a sweat, Jean presses his fingers into his temples. That was such a bad move he'd made back there. He wished he wasn't so compelled to act when he saw someone getting picked on. If he wasn't, then odds are none of this would have even started in the first place.

By the time he walks out the bell has just run, and he's met with the typical end of the day traffic in the halls. He's surprised when he sees Marco waiting at the far gym doors, and even more surprised when he waves at him as he walks over.

"Hey Jean!" Marco calls, easily falling into step with him as Jean walks. This is fucking _weird_, and it makes Jean uncomfortable. No one's waited around to walk with him before…well. For a while.

"Hey," Jean responds, shuffling his backpack awkwardly on his shoulders as they make their way through the throngs of students.

Marco smiles at him, and it makes Jean uncomfortable how genuine it is. "How was gym class?"

Considering there's no way in hell that Jean would tell him about how his class just went, he opts to giving a small, sarcastic laugh instead. He's lucky that side of his face that Ben punched is faced away from Marco. "Oh, you know," he chides, "as well as gym class can go."

If he picks up on his obviously bad mood, he sure doesn't show it. "Yeah, it's a pain sometimes. I'm more of a football player, so this basketball unit is kicking my butt."

Jean feels himself stiffen at those words, but he makes sure that he keeps his pace constant. "You on the team?"

With a nod, Marco smiles again. "Yeah, how could you tell?"

Jean shrugs. "Intuition."

He doesn't like the warm feeling that Marco's laugh gives him. Or the fact that he can't help but smile, too.

"You're funny," Marco says, his brown eyes warm as he looks at Jean. "Are you busy this weekend?"

Okay, so this guy _definitely_ doesn't know. Regardless, Jean feels like his heart stops and he trips on his own feet, lucky that he's able to catch himself before he ends up on his face. _This is a bad idea,_ he thinks to himself,_ this is the epitome of a bad idea, there's no way that this would end well, just tell him you're busy—_

"Not really," Jean finds himself saying anyways.

_Shit._

"Cool, you should come over on Saturday, if you want. I can help you with some of that physics you slept through, and you can give me some pointers about how to play basketball."

He'd completely forgotten about physics. "Uh…yeah, sorry. Sure."

Marco's smile widens, and he playfully sticks an elbow in Jean's ribs. "Awesome, so that's settled. I'll see you in class tomorrow, I've gotta take that bus to get home."

"Yeah," Jean responds, giving him a small wave back. "See you."

He runs across the crosswalk, just barely making it to the stop before his bus takes off, leaving Jean to wonder just what the hell he's gotten himself into.


End file.
